Kitty grins when she sees her name, rather pleased (a boy's part, that's good -- she knows she can make the audience laugh with that, and a caddish type is always fun) and hums a little snatch of song before examining the rest of the list.
"I am! Of a sort, anyway. Mostly I've worked the halls." Kitty, who isn't even of the legitimate stage, may actually be more scandalous yet. (She certainly is in other respects, but of course, she'd never admit to that.)
"I'm not terribly surprised. Usually it's working types who come, ma'am." And Kitty is perfectly respectful, apparently ladylike enough with her false fall of hair, but her voice -- theatrically genteel as it's prone to be -- should give away the class difference easily enough.
Arabella responds with a smile. "I daresay there are few such halls in the country. And fewer still a curate would find suitable?" Her tone is polite, but her eyes are bright.
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(and because the typist loves Tipping the Velvet)
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